


Rekindler

by heartprince



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: X & Y | Pokemon X & Y Versions
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-20 16:24:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4794281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartprince/pseuds/heartprince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On that day in Geosenge, Lysandre left a lot unfinished that would haunt Professor Sycamore for years to come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Romarin à Fleurs Blanches

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here it is, the prologue of something I've spent quite a while meticulously planning. The whole story has been plotted out, so it's just a matter of me sitting down to make it happen. 
> 
> Another note, and this will be a running thing because hey why not, the chapter title "romarin" refers to rosemary, used to express grief in the language of flowers. Also, here's a fun fact, purple carnations are used for funerals in France and many Francophone countries. Bit of dead French people trivia for everyone at home.

Even as it happened, Professor Augustine Sycamore knew that the otherwise unremarkable sight would become a brand upon his memory for years to come. Eyes downcast, he saw his shoes, scuffed with years of wear and dusted with the still-settling earth, planted firm at the edge of the abyss. Dusk was settling in over Kalos’ west coast, casting the town and its inhabitants in dull indigo.

 

Sina and Dexio were alternating speaking to him, he was at least aware of that. They were assuring him of the safety of locals and the efforts of rescue crew, but he was deafened by the rapids of the blood rushing through his ears. Every breath felt labored and he knew the constricting feeling in his chest was because his heart was being crushed by the rubble he saw before him. His gaze was fixated on the site where his sun was surely buried beneath the earth.

 

_Of course it would end like this. Who had he been kidding?_

 

“Professor? Are you feeling okay?” Sina asked, before quickly stammering, “I mean, as okay as you could be. I know you two were close, so, this must be hard on you, obviously. I only meant to make sure you weren’t about to pass out or, or something.”

 

He tore his eyes away from the wreckage to look at his distressed assistant and flash her a sloppy, forced smile. It didn’t reach his eyes and it felt unconvincing even to him, but at the very least he could prove that he still remembered the motion. Whether he intended to prove that to her or to himself was left undecided.

 

“Diantha was with the first responders,” Dexio offered, most likely mentioning the professor’s friend as an unsubtle attempt to shift the focus away from the person responsible for that forced half-smile. Sycamore turned his attention to him for that, lacking the spring required to define the action as perking up, but he seemed farther from death than before, anyways.

 

“What was she doing here?” He asked. His voice faltered and cracked slightly from his earlier period of silence, but his tone was level. Possibly still in shock, his assistants both noted. Dexio shrugged. “Beats me,” he said.

 

Diantha may have fought her way to earning the title of Kalos’ strongest, but that didn’t change the fact that the position of champion was a highly ornamental one. That, as well as her career in acting, frequently relegated her strength to appear secondary to her beauty in the public eye. It was rare indeed that she would find a reason to appear on the frontlines, even if the battle had passed.

 

Make no mistake, she _was_ certainly beautiful and Augustine had never refrained from telling her this. But her beauty was an effortless one, rather unlike the talents she had tirelessly worked for only to be pushed to the background. On many occasions she had allowed herself to rant and rave about the topic to him. For a moment, she could shed the persona she cultivated for the sake of the people before donning it again, seamlessly. He envied many traits of hers, but that always stood out to him the most. She really was an actress, through and through, living the part until she was finished.

 

He would have to ask her about this incident later.

 

“We’re the only people still here, professor.” Sina said delicately, her words being spoken with the tone of someone bandaging a wound. As an afterthought, she added, “the kids have begun heading back to Anistar City already, probably on their way to Snowbelle, knowing how ambitious some of them are.”

 

“You said it was Serena who… stopped him?” Professor Sycamore asked her.

 

She nodded gravely. “The poor girl looked really shaken up from the whole thing, but I guess you know what they say about all that ‘do or die’ business.”

 

"What do they say?" Dexio asked hesitantly, clearly unsure of whether the statement was rhetorical or not.

 

"Exactly was it sounds like. Sometimes you either have to do something or you _die_." Sina shot back grimly. The interaction was a parody of their usual banter, childishness stained by circumstance. _If she hadn’t done it, her and everyone else would have, very literally, died_ was left implied, hanging unsaid between them like hot air seeping from the rocks below. It left a bad taste in Sycamore's mouth.

 

“I need to apologize to her.” The professor heard himself say.

 

Both his assistants looked at him with different combinations of bewilderment and pity. Sycamore was only slightly surprised at himself that he verbalized the thought. It was true that he hadn’t specifically told Serena to put herself in that danger (in contrast to what he had done with Sina and Dexio) but he was still responsible for her involvement. He gave her that starter, he sent them all around Kalos knowing full well what Team Flare was up to, he’s the reason she ever came into contact with Lysandre at all, and he _should have known better_.

 

What good is a teacher that inspires his students but fails to protect them from the consequences?

 

Professor Sycamore shook his head slowly, absentmindedly, before finally turning away from the wreckage. He walked back in the direction of the main town and the other two dutifully trotted after him. He stopped in front of the entrance to Route 11 and released his talonflame from its pokéball.

 

"I'm going to meet Serena in Couriway Town, but I'll be back in Lumiose by tomorrow morning, alright?" He said.

 

Sina and Dexio both nodded and watched their boss disappear into the distance in silence.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_I have to apologize to you about Lysandre..._

 

He practiced what he would say in his head over and over again as he absentmindedly watched the Kalosian countryside transform into cities and back again beneath his companion’s wings. He reminded himself that he had already sent her a message asking to meet her, he couldn’t back out now. All he could do was steel himself for the conversation he would be having once he landed.

 

He recalled Lysandre once telling him how it was the duty of adults not to fail those that would succeed them. He pushed the thought away before he could even register the memory as a happy or sad one.

 

He didn’t blame Serena for anything that had happened, of course. She needed to know that. It was already unfair that she had to shoulder the weight of protecting everyone she’s ever met, to give the poor girl any sort of grief on account of a criminal’s death wish was unthinkable. He tried to put aside his own mourning to imagine the impact that Lysandre’s last stand would have on an impressionable child.

 

The thought made him grimace to himself. The circumstances of the flare leader’s demise, at least as relayed by his assistants, were wearing away at the polished image that Sycamore had formed of him over the years. He was self-aware enough to have realized long before this that he had been in denial about some of the man’s qualities, but his last moments seemed to taint all that had come before it. Already he could feel something dark twisting through their past together, spreading like black ink through longstanding paths of water.

 

Even through a haze of adoration, Sycamore knew he knew long ago that his passion and ambition went hand-in-hand with his rage and obsession. He knew that the empathy that drew him to him was like an exposed nerve, agonizing to possess. He knew about all his flaws beforehand, knew them _intimately_ , and he felt a sting of disappointment at himself mixed in with the rest of his anguish because of it.

 

He wondered if this would have hurt more if he really had been as oblivious to Lysandre’s nature as he feigned. He doubted it, considering one of the worst things about this mess was the already-creeping guilt that he could have prevented it.

 

The worst thing was knowing that despite the fact that he didn’t, he still loved him.

 

_I have to apologize to you about Lysandre. I have to apologize to you. I have to apologize._

Couriway Town’s waterfalls were just coming into focus through the faint fog when his talonflame let out a squawk to grab his attention. He directed the pokémon to land gently in the middle of town, hopped off, and took a moment to affectionately run his hands through its feathers. The bond between pokémon and their trainer was a beautiful thing, something he was glad he had dedicated such a large part of his life to appreciating. Even so, he couldn’t help but think of it as a burden when he looked into its eyes and saw his own misery reflected so clearly. Sycamore noted that his sadness, his numbing, all-consuming sadness, was certain to have its effect on the pokémon that he had bonded with, and felt remorse at the thought. He caressed the side of bird’s head once more, pleading a silent apology to the creature.

 

Night had already fallen, so the two were alone in the spot of lamplight illuminating the wooden pier. It was mid-September and only around 9 o’clock, so it wasn’t as if the temperature had dropped all that much yet, but he still felt a chill rattling him to his core. He made a mental note to justify it with the presence of the ever-frozen Snowbelle City just to the south, if asked.

 

He heard the faint scuffling of feet and saw a slender figure walking from the direction of the Pokémon Center with a fully-evolved delphox in tow, lighting their path. Her key stone caught the moonlight, shimmering a faint turquoise everytime she swung her arms as she walked. He felt the dull pangs of regret reverberate through him afresh at the sight.

 

Serena quickened her pace when she caught sight of him, her delphox following close behind. She caught his eyes and gave him a drained smile, not unlike the one he gave to Sina and Dexio just a few hours earlier, and he knew already that no rehearsed apology would ever feel satisfactory to him. Still, he cleared his throat and recited his lines.

 

“Hello…” He began, and took a deep breath. “I have to apologize to you about Lysandre… I’m very sorry about the trouble he caused…”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Days passed in a haze for a long while after that day, which was henceforth almost exclusively thought of as the Incident by Professor Sycamore and several of his associates. He was given time off on compassionate leave, something that a younger version of him might have resisted out of love for his work, but he now found himself graciously accepting it.

 

Distance from many of the things that reminded him the most of Lysandre was healthy, necessary even. However, choosing to have only his thoughts for company quickly took its toll on Sycamore. He was feeding himself at least, but beyond that he mainly chose to lie alone in his misery, not caring about how he must look. There were many nights he lay awake, fearful of nightmares to come, and he had the shadows under his eyes to prove it.

 

It was a Sunday when Diantha came to pick him up for the funeral.

 

She had checked in on him twice before this, slipping away from paparazzi and managers alike long enough to make sure he was doing okay, and sending word to either Sina or Dexio to follow up if she deemed it necessary. Which, both times, she did.

 

Sycamore sat beside the champion, silent and vacant, as they drove towards the site together in the darkened car. He felt numb, mostly. The events at Geosenge had gouged out something tender within him, and now he could feel where the rough scar tissue was closing up over the ensuing cavity.

 

He looked about as good as he felt, frankly. Diantha may have gently done her best to make sure that he appeared vaguely presentable for such a somber event, but there was no hiding his drained skin and haunted gaze. She had hastily smudged some of her concealer where darkness had welled beneath his eyes, but he still felt the weight of the world pulling on his features. Even the way he carried himself lacked his usual vigor. All the energy he once used to express his boundless excitement was currently being redirected to simply keep himself upright, as if he was something delicate that would fall apart if one wasn’t careful.

 

Diantha, meanwhile, sat stiffly upright, her pale eyes trained on the landscape passing them by. Her funeral attire was a jarring contrast to her most familiar outfit, trading out all white for all black on account of the occasion. A pillbox hat was perched on her head, pinned to her braids, and from it a deep black veil dangled in front of her features. It was meant to serve a more practical purpose in maintaining relative anonymity, but the professor still couldn’t help but be unsettled at the sight of such a warm, comforting face turning to stone and disappearing behind a physical shadow.

 

They had been close friends for a long time, but now more than ever he felt grateful for her presence. He had permitted himself to rely on her strength for the time being, deciding to push feeling any guilt about doing so to a later time. He did, however, feel some regret already for the sorry state she had seen him in during their visits, as both involved alcohol, tears, and vomit, not necessarily in that order. That woman is surely a saint, he thought. A saint or an angel or some other being too pure to have to deal with the likes of me.

  
He knew that her appearance at the funeral was almost exclusively for the purpose of supporting him. The whole affair had been rushed along at the request of his few living relatives, all emotionally-distant aristocrats who wanted nothing more than to wash their hands of the whole affair, resulting in a service being put on only four days after the Incident. Sycamore, naturally, was still reeling from the freshly-dealt wound and appreciated all the emotional support he was offered. Bitterly, he noted that those relatives suffered no such pain and likely didn’t stop to think that anyone else would. In any case, without a body recovered the whole thing was purely ceremonial to begin with.

 

The car pulled to a stop at the end of a gravel driveway. Diantha got out first, quickly smoothing out the wrinkles in her pantsuit before turning around to offer the professor her hand. He took a deep breath and accepted it, joining her in the small parking lot. Large trees surrounded them on three sides, and they stood together for a brief moment in the dappled shade. He looked around, gathering his bearings. The location was unfamiliar to him, he knew they were somewhere off the back roads of Route 7 but not much else, yet he still felt oddly at ease. The forest surrounded them for miles, lively and untainted. Buried in the underbrush were the remains of a different time, crumbling stone walls from an era of long-past Kalosian kings, now the playthings of vines and moss. Aside from a few old-fashioned homes owned primarily by stubborn descendants of monarchy, the entire surrounding area was almost entirely overgrown. Had the stone foundations not remained, no one would know that human rulers once reigned here. Professor Sycamore found the purity of it all to be striking.

 

The sound of pebbles shifting under heeled boots snapped him back to attention, and he looked to see Diantha leaning in towards the car’s driver, saying something under her breath. The driver, a bony and dignified older woman, nodded sagely and produced a bouquet from the passenger seat for her. Diantha took the flowers, creamy white lilies and violet carnations, into her arms with a quiet “thank you.”

 

“Shall we go?” She asked, keeping her voice low and level. He nodded. She turned briskly on her heel and walked towards the path leading to the old, unassuming white building where the service was to be held.

 

There was a unanimous understanding to make the affair as private as they could manage. As such, the attendance was limited.

 

Sycamore spent the greater part of the service sitting quietly alongside one of Lysandre’s aunts and a handful of his cousins, none of which appeared to have any desire to be there beyond fulfilling customary obligations. He was an only child and had lost both of his parents over the course of his life, so the duty of honoring the life of one of their own, whatever it may have been, fell to them whether they liked it or not. His aunt, whom he believed was called Geneviève but lacked a desire to confirm this, had taken it upon herself to make the arrangements within the hour she heard the news about her nephew. She was the elder sister of Lysandre’s late mother: a small, spindly woman in her late sixties, who came off as very cold, almost cruel to the professor.

 

Perhaps he shouldn’t be so quick to judge, he thought, remembering the way Lysandre spoke of his family. He rarely mentioned them, and when he did it was rarer that he did so without palatable distain. “Never saw eye-to-eye with them when it came to important things,” he said once, casually, over coffee. He thought that they were all “simultaneously a symptom and a disease in their own right,” he said another time, drunk and raving. In any case, they weren’t close, and considering the shame Lysandre must have brought upon them, he was almost grateful that any of them showed up at all.

 

The sermon, also the product of strictly held tradition, settled into a dull drone in the back of his mind. It was written in lofty, flowery, and clearly centuries-old language and dryly recited by a disinterested third party, who was likely not even aware of the identity of the person supposedly in the empty casket next to him. Sycamore couldn’t help but find the priest’s words regarding something relating to the will of Arceus to be incredibly unfitting at the funeral of a man who spent many of his last moments wrestling with a literal god himself. He wondered if anyone else thought the same. Looking around, many of the faces were unfamiliar to him, likely coworkers and business partners from his time before Team Flare that attended out of respect.

 

He slyly studied the crowd around him, trying not to move his head too conspicuously but desperate to see in them any part of Lysandre that he hadn’t got the chance to. He was mostly disappointed by the stern, downcast faces. Still, he noted the comforting presence of Diantha a row behind him.

 

When everyone filed out to move to a raised, grassy clearing in the back, she gently squeezed his shoulder as they passed each other. They gathered in haphazard procession in front of the graves of Lysandre’s parents, to which the extended family was to add some note of their son’s life. Another empty gesture, Sycamore noted, and the one that would likely have irritated Lysandre the most, were he alive to see it.

 

He hardly noticed when the priest finally stopped talking, nor when Geneviève lead the crowd back down the hill. Turning from the grave to watch them go, he spotted Serena, standing alone. Her friends were already making their way back to the pathway, but she remained, motionless as the trees surrounding them. She looked stiff and haunted, so he made no attempt to call out to her, but he still watched as Shauna ran back to worriedly take her hand before they both disappeared into the thick woods.

 

There was another pair of women that caught his eye as he watched everyone leave. Like most everyone else, they were donned in all black, save for the equally vibrant hair peaking out from one’s cap and the other’s headscarf, and something about them felt distinctly familiar. They both wore sunglasses despite the fact that it was overcast, but he thought nothing of it. The one wearing the cap, with neon green hair, leaned in to whisper something to her companion. The other only nodded, brushing away a few of her purple hairs before taking the green-haired woman’s arm. Soon after, they left too.

 

He saw Diantha pause in front of a lithe young woman, who by now was the only other person remaining, before continuing on her way back towards the car. He recalled her mentioning earlier, as she was fussing over him, that she wouldn’t blame him for taking a while.

 

The woman who seemed to have caught Diantha’s attention was wearing a dark, wide-brimmed hat that had obscured his view of her face until that moment, but as she joined him in front of the grave, he immediately recognized her by her sharp features and bubblegum pink hair. That, and the familiarly icy aura he could practically feel radiating off of her. He spared her a glance, noticing tightly-wrapped bandages peaking out from under her long sleeves, but didn’t feel especially compelled to acknowledge her presence beyond this.

 

“You cared about him more than anyone,” she said plainly, presenting it as fact. Her voice cracked a little, yet she sounded sure of herself. It took him aback, but there was nothing questioning or accusatory about it, Sycamore realized. It was just an observation she decided to make. She looked at him, practically staring him down, waiting for a response.

 

“Probably,” he conceded.

 

“I oversaw a lot of people who idolized him, you know, but you stand out to me, Professor.” Even from beneath the tinted lenses of her glasses, he could feel her gaze sear through his skin. “Maybe you idolized him too, I don’t know. Maybe I’m giving you too much credit, but I always saw you with him and thought ‘that poor sap is too good for someone like Lysandre to be fucking around with.’”

 

She looked down at the grave between them, pausing before adding, “I thought, ‘hey, maybe he found someone naive enough to try and save him.’”

 

Professor Sycamore swallowed, blinking rapidly as he was determined not to cry in front of a casual acquaintance who had decided to see right through him today. He hesitated, and thought before he spoke.

 

“...Malva.” She quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t interrupt. “What about you? How did you see him?” He spoke shakily, just above a whisper.

 

“I was his friend, I guess.” Malva said bitterly, and frowned as if the words had burned her tongue. "A bad one, though."

 

She barked out a laugh, harsh and completely humorous. “He was just as bad a friend to me too, though, enabling me to run off and join a gang like that!” Another laugh. “Calling it a cult would be more accurate, though! Arceus, what was I thinking.”

 

“Look at us. We’re a pair of fools, Augustine,” she spat out, and laughed again. Sycamore was beginning to worry somewhat for her state of mind. He had always known her to be a fairly callous woman, but the sheer venom seeping into her tone astounded him. Not that he thought she was wrong, exactly.

 

“I won’t argue with you,” he sighed. She placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a sympathetic look.

 

“Oh, right, as it happens, I have something for you.” Malva said.

 

“You do?” He said, making no attempt to hide his surprise. He honestly couldn’t imagine what it could be, considering how little they had in common. Not to mention that this was Malva that he was talking to, after all. He never actively disliked her, unlike, well, a lot of people, but he couldn’t deny that she wasn’t usually the most pleasant person to be around. She definitely wasn’t the sort of person to give gifts to someone she could hardly consider a friend, sudden death of a loved one notwithstanding.

 

Malva fumbled around in her handbag briefly before pulling out a velvet jewelry box. She examined its contents quickly, out of sight of the professor, before handing it to him. He shakily took it, even more confused than he had been before.   
  
“Diane got it from the recovery team and gave it to me,” she said. _Is… she referring to Diantha?_ Sycamore wondered, but didn’t verbalise. “She thought I could make use of it, but honestly I think you’re better suited to have it.”

 

“What… is it?” Sycamore asked breathily, mind racing.

 

“Why don’t you open it and find out?” She responded.

 

The Incident brought with it many images that Professor Augustine Sycamore was sure would become burned into his memories. The crater in Geosenge was one, certainly. Serena’s eyes, tired but alight with victory, after they battled at Couriway was another. He was sure he would be haunted by the sights of funeral bouquets and red-orange suits, of a cherished photograph of the two of them lying crumpled in the remains of a shattered picture frame. All symbols and motifs he had inflicted upon himself.

 

None of these, however, stayed with them as strongly as opening that jewelry box to see Lysandre’s mega ring, shimmering a faint turquoise in the light.

 


	2. Belle-de-Jour

_Two years since the Incident at Geosenge_  

 

 

“It’s been too long, Diantha!”

  
  
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Serena, how have you been?”

 

Diantha leaned down slightly to greet the teenager with a swift, feather-light kiss on each cheek, smiling daintily, but genuinely. Serena was beaming back at her, jittery with excitement. Possibly nervousness as well, if her tightly clutching at her handbag was to be taken as any indication.

 

Café Soleil was the same as it had always been, comfortably secluded from the lively city. Neatly kept flower boxes lined the windows, which themselves were furnished to appear a charming homage to the neoclassical Kalosian architecture of the past century. As was just about everything else about the place, as it happened. The marble tiles and elaborate wooden paneling on the walls all gave off the impression of an establishment more prestigious than an otherwise unassuming café. Diantha mused to herself on more than one occasion that perhaps this was proof that she was, after all, secretly as pretentious as certain gossips liked to claim.

 

The two found a seat at a table in the corner, Serena fidgeting all the while. When she released her grip on her bag, placing it to the side of her chair, she brought up a hand to fiddle with the ends of her chin-length hair instead. _Hm, it wasn’t always that short,_ Diantha thought distractedly. _Is that trendy again? Perhaps I ought to cut my hair short, like I did in high school. These braids aren’t the most convenient, ‘iconic value’ be damned._

“So, what have you been up to?” Serena asked, recapturing her attention. She was blushing a little, but she seemed to be settling more at ease with each passing minute. The question was a politeness, she noted. Diantha had recently wrapped up filming a major piece, something pedestrian but guaranteed to sell, and was able to be back in Lumiose City as a result. Of course, Serena knew that, otherwise she never would have reached out to her to meet for lunch in the first place, and Diantha mentally kicked herself for dropping the gracefulness ball on that one. Maintaining dainty smalltalk was a cultivated specialty of hers, after all, and it was dreadfully unfair to put pressure on a clearly-flustered child.

 

Then again, she saw no reason that the only trainer to defeat her in years would be intimidated by her. Star power was a funny thing.

 

“I was out in the northeast, by Dendemille, for filming for a while, but now that that’s all over with I can resume full-time work in the league.” Diantha said, smiling gently. The majority of it had been dreadful, and she spent a great deal of her time there focusing on other things, but she didn’t feel the need to elaborate on that. “How about you, though? What have you been up to all this time? Frankly I’m surprised you haven’t been making headlines, but perhaps that’s just me.”

 

Serena giggled at that. “I’m flattered, really! But no, I’ve been trying to stay out of the spotlight for now. I’m still figuring things out for myself, I don’t want anybody interfering.”

 

“You’re wise for your age,” Diantha said, and wholeheartedly meant it. As satisfied with she was with her life, she frequently wondered how different she would be if she made better (smarter) decisions at her age.

 

“I guess.” Serena replied. She sighed down at her cutlery, barely audibly, but it didn’t slip Diantha’s attention. She remembered then how the professor spoke of her for a while after the incident two years ago: with great admiration, yes, but also a drowning feeling of guilt and despair. Time heals wounds as best it can, but the look that flashed across her eyes was evident of the scars it left behind. It didn’t surprise her when Serena looked back up and said, “I think… I think it’s because I had to reevaluate some things. When that thing happened.”

 

“Some people would be crushed by something like that,” Diantha replied. “I’m grateful that you weren’t.”

 

Serena smiled, and Diantha smiled back at her. “Didn’t you say something like that when I faced you two years ago?”

 

“Probably. That just means I really, truly mean it.”

 

Diantha thought back on the monologue she gave her during their first battle, confirming her own previous statement to herself. That had been a dark time in many people's’ lives and Serena was an inspiration to her. She was happy to act as a pillar of strength to both the community and her dearest friend, but she couldn’t deny that the events that transpired shook her far more deeply than she let on.

 

After all, she was the movie star champion Diantha, the face of the indomitable Kalos region. It just wouldn’t be appropriate for her to show sympathy towards someone who had been a threat to her people.

 

Of course, as with everything else, this was harder on poor Augustine. The charming, incorruptible professor, a public figure in his own right. She loved the man to death, but it was hard to worry about herself when the world was determined to pick at anything that started to fix the gaping hole Lysandre left behind.

 

Serena shook her head a little. “I’m sorry, I got carried away there. What I mean to say is I’ve been studying, mostly. I figured it can’t possibly be too late to get more serious, or whatever.”

 

“How old are you, Serena?” Diantha asked. “Not that this has any bearing on whether it’s too late or not, I assure you it’s never too late to expand your mind.”

 

“I’m 15, but I’ll be 16 in December.”

 

“I see.” Diantha said simply. Serena really was a truly remarkable trainer, considering that capturing a physical god at age 13 wasn’t even the action she was most renowned for on that particular week. She got the sense that a lot of adults didn’t know how to treat her, a child more powerful and wise than any of them, but noted that Serena didn’t seem bothered by traditional notions of respect. She just wanted to be herself, a teenager.

 

The waiter came by to take their beverage orders (pink lemonade for Serena and unsweetened iced tea for Diantha) before leaving as quickly as he arrived.

 

“To be honest, I’m still somewhat surprised you refused the title of champion.” Diantha said, after taking a moment in the silence the waiter left behind.

 

Serena looked up from her menu, appearing unprepared for that question. “Well, you know, it’s like…” She bit her lip and furrowed her brow, as if trying to unearth something buried deep that she feared might crumble in her hands. “I don’t know. It seemed like too much for me to handle.”

 

“More than saving all of our lives?”

 

“Well I mean, if I messed that one up then at least I wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences.” Serena said, to which Diantha immediately let out a very genuine laugh. She huffed and added, “I’m not wrong!”

 

“No, you’re not.” Diantha said, practically giggling before regaining her composure. “Being champion does have its responsibilities, though you might be surprised just how much of an empty title it feels like sometimes.”

 

“What do you mean?” Serena asked. Diantha felt a pull of regret at her careless words, fearing that she might leave the girl feeling disillusioned. She then reminded herself that if she could stare down death in several senses of the word at age thirteen and be fine, she could handle something as mundane as this, and to be careful not to patronize her.

 

The waiter returned with their drinks, placing them on the table as Diantha blindly rattled off a familiar order and Serena asked for something that sounded fancy to her.

 

“I don’t have any _actual_ authority where it matters.” Diantha sighed, gently swirling her glass in her hand. She set it down and watched the ice cubes settle into place before speaking again. “For instance, if I wanted to assist with any sort of law enforcement, they’re within their rights to treat me as an interfering civilian. To be fair, it usually doesn’t come up, but that doesn’t make it any less irritating when it does. It was a hassle when I needed to get to the wreckage in Geosenge-”

 

“You were at Geosenge?”

 

Diantha froze with the hesitancy of someone who wasn’t _entirely_ certain that they had said too much, but had still caught themselves talking longer than they had meant to. Diantha’s appearance at Geosenge town on the day of the Incident was her non-secret of sorts. She never once denied her presence there, but only because she made a point to avoid the topic as much as she was able. The less people knew about her actions that day, the better for her, after all. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, before speaking again.

 

“Yes, that’s correct.”

  
  
“What were you doing there?”

  
  
“I was… worried” Diantha said vaguely. Her eyes briefly darted to the side as she thought about what to say next. Across the table Serena watched her curiously, getting the impression she had struck a nerve.

 

“Don’t worry about it, I’m just surprised I’m only finding out now.” Serena said softly. Bless this girl’s boundless compassion, Diantha thought.

 

Diantha’s memories of the event weren’t particularly comprehensive, appearing to her like a series of photographs all in short focus. The cloud of dust shining in the sunlight, the twitchy, faceless crowd, that unforgettable chasm, all of these were like background static both then and now.  She did at least remember clearly seeing Sina and Dexio, the only other figures there with outfits that rivaled hers in terms of being attention-grabbingly white.

 

Dexio was the one to tell her in greater detail what had happened once her panic subsided, frantically running up to her just as she was walking away from the remains of the flare base. She remembered the way her heart plummeted in her chest when she saw Sina behind him, calling the professor. And she remembered the chilling guilt she felt as she left soon after, unable to make herself stay to witness his response.

 

“I came with the first response crew but didn’t stay very long,” Diantha clarified, “So it makes sense that we wouldn’t have seen each other.”

 

“Yeah, but I’m surprised no one was talking about it! You of all people should know how much people like to gossip.”

 

“Oh, I’m aware,” Diantha said. She gave Serena a slight smirk, alight with playfulness. “Even I have ways to keep secrets, you know.”

 

“Assuming that’s true and you’re not just trying to look cool, I’m surprised there’s any gossip about you to begin with.” Serena giggled.

 

“But wouldn’t that be more suspicious?” Diantha replied lightly, still smiling. “If people think they know everything about you, then they won’t dig as deeply.”

 

“That sounds so devious!”

 

“A bit, yes,” Diantha conceded.

 

“So all those rumors about your love life are just a part of your design?” Serena asked. Her wide blue eyes were shining at her, awestruck. She was leaning in on her elbows slightly, body language shifting from serious, mature to excitable, girlish. Diantha was getting the sneaking suspicion that she was getting the wrong idea here, but saw no reason to dampen her spirit. If anything, her energy was contagious, and she could feel another smile pulling on her lips.

 

“Don’t give me too much credit, now!” Diantha laughed back at her.

 

“Alright then, how much of it is true?” Serena teased.

 

“Goodness, you really _are_ a teenager!”

 

“Indulge me!”

 

“Alright, alright, I confess that I’m not seeing anyone right now, but I was for a while.” Diantha said, throwing up her hands in mock surrender. When she noticed Serena perking up, clearly wanting details, she offered, “It was enjoyable while it lasted and now we’ve gone our separate ways. I’m over it.”

 

Alright, so that part was a bit of a white lie. In retrospect, the entire affair was passionate but remarkably draining, and the infuriating woman in question continued to be her co-worker. Furthermore, despite how badly she wanted to be, she definitely wasn’t over it, but there was no point in fixating on that now. C’est la vie and all that.

 

“Is that all I’m getting out of you?” Serena asked, still leaning in across the table.

 

“Yes it is.”

 

“You’re no fun.”

 

“Say whatever you like, I’m a busy woman, Serena.” Diantha said, voice dripping with mock-sternness. She felt comfortable slipping into the rhythm of this banter. Maybe she just hadn’t had a lot of interactions recently that were this relaxed and friendly, she thought. Maybe that was a sign she should work on her social life. “I just don’t have time for romantic affairs.”

 

“But you still have time to go out to lunch with me?” Serena questioned.

 

“Of course I do, don’t go selling yourself short now,” Diantha replied quickly. “I just mean I want to become a more proactive champion.”

 

This was the largest reason she was spending more time in both Lumiose City and the Pokémon League now, when it came down to it. Why she was wrapping up her dangling obligations to her other line of work for the time being. She had been given a long time to think, and it was the idealist, the part of her that wanted to both do and be better, that thrived under those circumstances. She still hadn’t become so embittered that she gave up on wanting to become the idealized image of a champion in actuality.

 

“I’ve been thinking a lot for the past two years,” Diantha said, staring intently at her clasped hands, “and I never want to feel that powerless again. I know this must sound contradictory to what I spoke of earlier, but even if I don’t have official authority, that doesn’t mean I can’t still do a better job of protecting the people who look up to me.”

 

Serena was looking at her softly, with an air of quiet admiration about her. “I think you’re already on your way,” she said.

 

“Am I?”

 

“Mhmm.” There was a moment of sudden quiet between them, Diantha waiting for Serena, who appeared to be deep in thought, to say something. Diantha nearly opened her mouth to speak, if only to break the silence, before Serena grinned to herself and spoke.

 

“I want you to be the most noble champion there ever was,” She said suddenly, and Diantha could only stare back at her. “I’ve decided that only once you’ve achieved that I will challenge you again, this time for the title.”

 

“You’re serious?” Diantha asked. She was more charmed than put off by her theatrics, but that didn’t mean she was totally at a loss on how to react.

 

“Completely. I don’t want to be champion unless it’s with the best legacy I can flaunt.”

 

“Alright, but you realize this means I’d only be the ideal champion for a very short period of time, right? We already know you can defeat me.”

 

“Well then,” Serena chided, “that just means you’ll have to get better.”

 

And before she could catch herself, Diantha was laughing heartily again. Before they had even met, she could recall Professor Sycamore telling her that this girl was full of surprises, and she seemed determined not to disappoint. Still smiling widely, she said, “It’s been awhile since someone was so blunt with me, I’m grateful.”

 

“I try my best,” Serena said. Her tone was informal and relaxed, even with the light blush Diantha could see coloring her cheeks.

 

She was starting to get a better idea of the sort of person Serena was. Diantha, personally, had her doubts that she would ever be a more skilled trainer that her, but Serena didn’t. She wasn’t sure if she was ignorant of the power she possessed or just unconcerned about it, but either way, being the best for herself alone didn’t seem to be her priority. She just… really wanted to help.

 

“Serena, while we’re on the topic, there’s something I was considering letting you in on.”

 

Serena, who had already looked as if she couldn’t be any more excited while still maintaining her silence, nodded for her to go on.

 

“I’m trying to keep a closer eye on what’s going on in the region, and I’ve heard a rumor floating around that concerns me.” Diantha said quietly. “I confess I don’t know its merit, so I was unsure if I should tell you and risk worrying you over nothing, but…”

 

“Go on…” Serena nearly whispered back, completely enraptured.

 

“Some people are saying there’s a small part of Team Flare that’s still alive and kicking.”

 

“ _What?!_ ” Serena squeaked, appearing to be knocked back in her chair by this information. “Why shouldn’t I know about that?”

 

“Because it’s just a rumor! And even if it wasn’t, it’s not as if I could sic you on them, or better yet go after them myself, when that’s the only piece of information we have.” Diantha replied smoothly.

 

“That makes sense, I guess,” Serena conceded.

 

“They’re probably not a threat now that they’ve lost their leader but it never hurts to be safe,” Diantha said. That’s how the first debacle with Team Flare was even able to happen, anyways. There was no concentrated effort to stop them at their earlier phases, and that’s how they managed to get as close to success as they did. She had no intention of repeating the past, especially not with stakes so potentially high.

 

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Serena offered, and Diantha nodded. Her nagging anxieties about this threat were soothed by this conversation, especially now that she realized she had an ally. Let this be a valuable lesson about the merits of asking for help, Diantha thought to herself.

 

“You know who you should really ask about this?” Serena offered. “Malva.”

 

Diantha immediately set about disregarding aforementioned valuable lesson. At the woman’s name alone, her skin prickled all over and the room felt several degrees warmer. At the mention of her specifically in the context of Team Flare, she felt her blood run cold and old emotions start wriggling disgustingly inside her like worms trying to escape. Malva’s involvement in Team Flare remained a smear on their relationship, past and present. It was something she had, frankly, been completely content to selfishly ignore.

 

No, asking Malva for help dealing with Team Flare was the last thing she wanted to do. She carefully maintained her composure, praying that her voice wouldn’t give her away.

 

“Why do you say that?” She asked, feigning ignorance.

 

“She helped me when Xerosic was acting up,” Serena said cheerfully. “Sort of in her own way maybe, but she knows things, Diantha. She was in Team Flare.” Diantha frowned slightly, and Serena must have misinterpreted, because she immediately added, “Oh! Did you not know that? I didn’t mean to keep it a secret from you, it’s just that I felt like I owed her for helping me and I didn’t want her to get in trouble for it.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Diantha said, “I understand.”

 

The waiter returned with their meals after that, and they ate in relative quiet, the rest of their conversation turning to pleasant chatting for good this time.

 

 

* * *

 

  
  


“Did you hear? Diantha’s back in Lumiose,” Sina said.

 

“C’est vrai? I’m surprised she hasn’t told me already, I must send her a message once we finish for today.”

 

Sina smiled wearily and handed her clipboard to the professor, and he flipped through the series of papers attached to it, skimming through the notes she had scribbled down on the stone they were currently testing. The stone that they had been testing for somewhere between five and seven days now, though all three of them kept losing track of the specific length of time that had passed. Dexio insisted it had been at least an entire week, Professor Sycamore could have sworn that it was six days, and Sina claimed that they were both tired and exaggerating and that it had only been five.

 

It was a mild autumn evening, and to a casual observer, Sycamore Labs was almost indistinguishable from how it was before.

 

“I can’t believe we’re back to testing mega stones by trial and error,” Dexio groaned as he walked into the room after Sina, stack of papers in hand.

 

“I never claimed my equation was perfect! It was only ever meant as a suggestion, so it’s only natural we would run into something that wouldn’t fit it sooner or later,” Sycamore replied, still looking over the notes. He continued, voice trailing off into an absentminded mutter, “I think it has to do with my probably incorrect observation that mega evolution was unique to this region, so if that’s the case then we need a more long-term fix to our limited pokédex problem.”

 

Sina and Dexio both left the professor to his own devices, returning to their work station and trusting him to alert them once he decided what, exactly, they could do to make their job easier on all of them. Professor Sycamore may have always been a bit of an airhead, but that didn’t change the fact that when it came down to it, he knew what he was doing and they could always trust his judgement.

 

This was exclusively in reference to his work, however. In other parts of his life his judgement had been nothing short of appalling, not that most people would be insensitive enough to bring that up nowadays. His manner of coping with this, as it happens, was to dive further into his work than ever before, surrounding himself in his safe place. As natural a reaction as that might seem, it still worried his assistants to see the otherwise glowingly friendly professor hide from the world out of a combination of grief and fear, and they were both relieved when he began to act more like himself. Even if he never returned to his socialite status, the two of them were just happy to see him go out again.

 

Diantha’s return to Lumiose was a relief to them. Sure, he was definitely beyond needing someone to watch over him, but he could still use it, and she was infinitely more qualified than them. If nothing else, she would definitely get him out of the lab more, which was moving in the right direction and therefore was weight off their minds. Honestly, Sycamore hardly realized the extent of his assistants’ concern for him.

 

“Another negative reading,” Dexio heard Sina sigh at him from the machine a few feet away. “I’m calling it quits for tonight and praying to Arceus that the professor figures something out soon.”

 

“Sounds good to me,” Dexio said, and jotted down the result before looking back up at his partner.  “Hey, Sina?”

 

“What is it?”

  
  
“Do you think the professor is ever going to be, well, completely back to the way he used to be?”

 

Sina stared at him for a moment, thinking. “Honestly? I’m not sure. Maybe.”

 

“I’ll still respect him no matter what, but it would be sad if he doesn’t.”

 

“I know,” She said hollowly.

 

They gathered up their supplies in silence after that, neither of them looking at the other. Despite their shared and equally consuming care for the professor, it wasn’t something they liked to verbalize if they could help it. Which made sense, it wasn’t a pleasant topic, but even more than that, it wasn’t something they could truly understand or do anything about. And as scientists, that was frustrating for them.

 

Said professor chose that moment to stroll down the stairs from his office, grinning and waving the clipboard held in his right hand. “I’ve got an idea!”

 

The pair of now-twenty-year-olds blinked at him, both of them already holding their bags. Slowly, Sina asked, “What is it, professor?”

 

“I made a serious error!” He said without a trace of shame. “You see, we’ve been operating under the assumption that our mystery pokémon was even common to the Kalos region, so it stands to reason that all of our trial and error has been completely in the wrong direction!”

 

Dexio groaned again. “I don’t see why you’re so excited about that,” he grumbled.

 

Sycamore tsked at him. “Because it is exciting! Once we navigate around this obstacle, we’ll have an even bigger field of study than we ever anticipated, don’t you think that’s something to look forward to?”

 

It wasn’t a secret that the study of mega evolution was generally considered by others to be Professor Sycamore’s magnum opus, just as Sycamore himself fondly thought of his influence in the field as his pride and joy. Any new developments on that subject were generally met with an added buzz to the overall liveliness of the labs, a sort of boost of moral.

 

It wasn’t all they did, of course, but it was certainly what they did with the greatest enthusiasm. Recently, however, grants were given out to conduct studies in other areas, mostly to junior researchers. They accepted former employees of Lysandre Labs into their staff following the severe downsizing of the company on account of the loss of its founder. They were more likely to be skilled engineers rather than biologists, but Professor Sycamore cited his desire for a well-rounded team among his reasons for taking them in, besides simply not wanted talented minds to go to waste. Many of these scientists were currently using the facilities to find ways of improving the pokédex, for example.

 

Sina and Dexio, while still officially the professor’s aides as their primary assignment, had been given clearance to do their own research as well. Public interest in the regional legendaries had sparked following Team Flare’s actions, though little information was readily available, with eyewitness reports spread through word of mouth being the basis for most people’s curiosity. Sina had been the one to suggest that they be permitted to do more formal research on the side, and the professor readily supported them, regardless of the fact that the greater part of their work so far involved sifting through archeological texts in order to grasp at more solid footing.

 

“Will we be back to mega evolution full time?” Dexio asked.

 

“Only if you want to,” Professor Sycamore said, “Personally I think what you’re doing will come in handy someday, so you should feel free to prioritize it.”

 

Dexio nodded and said, “Okay, but if I see you spending all your time in the labs again, I’m taking some of the workload whether you want me to or not.”

 

Sycamore turned to Sina. “What he said,” she said before he could even open his mouth.

 

“My goodness, what would I ever do without my dear assistants?” The professor smiled wearily at them, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “Don’t you worry about me, really. I promise that I’ll keep things under control.”

 

And they didn’t know what to say to that, so they just smiled right back at him.

 

They ended up not having to say anything after all, because Cosette called for the professor from the other room, saying something or other about an important phone call. He turned briskly on his heel and ran off as quickly as he came, the pair barely catching the sight of his white lab coat disappearing around the corner.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Augustine Sycamore always liked the aesthetics of cafés but never found himself frequenting them that often. He was always busy with something, it seemed. He had been ever since he moved to Lumiose City, which of course was the greatest irony as the city had more cafés than anywhere else in Kalos. Possibly more than anywhere else on earth, but he hadn’t travelled enough to say that with confidence. The times he did manage to go were usually pleasantly uninteresting, delightfully meaningless.

 

But there was one afternoon he remembered spending at a café, deep in conversation the entire time, that liked to project itself on his dreams. It was a mild day, probably late April or early May, and many months before the earth collapsed for him. He couldn’t remember if the sky was blue that day or if his mind was just playing tricks on him, superimposing that man’s eyes over his whole world.

 

He had sipped at his coffee (cream and three sugars) and watched him reverently as he spoke. He listened to his words like the holiest benediction, still and silent and completely in awe. He laid his ambitions bare on that table like a gift, the most precious gift, leaving him completely exposed and vulnerable. He thought it to be beautiful in the most grotesque way, and he disregarded the pull of horrified repulsion that threatened to protect him from what he saw.

 

Others might say Augustine trusted too blindly, but in that moment he was the one being trusted beyond logicality. That man laid his gloved hand over his where it rested on the table and he pretended he didn’t feel his trembling fingertips. He asked him to do something for him and there was such fear in his voice, but of course he must have known that what he was really asking was for him to damn himself.

 

Sycamore still remembered the grateful way Lysandre looked back at him when he nodded in response. He lifted his coffee (black) to his lips and smiled a complicated smile at him, one that he would only understand in time.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus begins 2 or 3 chapters of plot setup (please bear with me) until we get to the good shit. You know how it is.
> 
> Morning glories (belle-de-jour) represent love in vain


End file.
